


Yaim'ol

by Tate_The_Great



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, It's about the emotional connection!, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Softcore Porn, bottom!Din
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tate_The_Great/pseuds/Tate_The_Great
Summary: “I’m glad you’re home,” Corin laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of downturned lips. “I missed you.”“I missed you more,” Din countered, wrapping his arms around Corin’s waist and pulling him closer. Corin fit perfectly between Din’s knees and he couldn't help but think that he belongs here, that this is always where he was intended to be.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 114
Collections: May The Smut Be With You





	Yaim'ol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).



> Full disclosure, I was uhhh very drunk when this is written. I apologize in advance; I just wanted to participate in the MTSBWY event. And yes, I'm fully aware I can't write smut RIP
> 
> Yaim'ol = Homecoming

It had taken nearly an hour of arguing before Corin had agreed to let Din out on his own. The fight itself had left Din exhausted before the hunt had even begun. A constant push and shove of wanting to protect and keep safe battling against the need to be close to each other. Din knew Corin had only wanted to help, but it was a stealth mission, and above any desire Din might’ve had to keep Corin by his side, the needs of the covert came first. This job, and the credits it would provide, were part of Din’s obligation to the Covert. 

In the end, Corin had agreed. The need for secrecy and stealth overweigh the need for backup. Din could handle himself. He would be fine.

He was not fine.

It had taken hours to track the bounty. The planet was given but the continent? Din had to hop from land mass to land mass searching and asking and pulling every strand that led to another person that might’ve known who he was looking for. 

It wasn’t enough. It had taken hours, days, miles and miles, of asking and searching and hunting until finally finally Din had run into the target. Pushing them into the carbonite freezer had been pure relief in Din’s viens. A promise he could go home. And with a sigh of relief and a deep ache in his joints, he punched in the coordinates for the nearest Guild hotspot.

But it hadn’t ended there, of course, Din was cursed by the Force to be put through the ringer time and time again until he could barely stand. The Guild Master had wanted more from him, a lower reward, another job, a threat for Din to keep working. But Din had a family to return to. A riduur impatiently awaiting his arrival. With deep exhaustion aching in every movement, Din had forcefully declined their offer for more. 

He needed to go home. He had people waiting for him. And above all else, he was tired. Barely having slept in days, catching hour long naps in hyperspace, Din could feel the bone deep need for rest nipping at his heels. 

Coming home was pure dopamine. Blue eyes and dimpled smile. Big ears and brown doe-eyes that bent Din to every whim and want. Din was home. After days and days and days of weary exhaustion.

Corin could see the ache in Din’s back and the limp in his knees as he walked down the ramp of the Razor Crest. He could read the slump in his shoulders and the pain that haunted the calloused fingers under his gloves. Corin saw it all, and only minutes after pulling his riduur into a welcoming hug, he was pushing him down the hall and back to their chambers. 

“You’re late,” Corin teased, an arm tucked securely around Din’s waist. 

“Complications.” Din shrugged, leaning into Corin’s side and seeking out more of the heat that soothed every twitch of a sore muscle. 

“Lets go to bed, cyare,” Corin murmured against the cold beskar helmet, still donned in a public hallway. The child held tight to his chest yawned in agreement. 

“That’s the best idea you’ve had in months,” Din teased, letting his helmet fall against Corin’s steady shoulder. He could already feel himself drifting off even as they walked. 

Din didn’t quite register everything that happened between the Razor Crest and their room. He knew he was home. And that was enough. He dimly remembered being instructed to take off his armor while Corin put the child to bed.

Eventually, Corin came to his side, standing in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed, helping him with the clasps that didn’t cooperate against weary fingers. Helmet removed and expressions exposed, Din looked up into Corin’s kind smile. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Corin laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of downturned lips. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you more,” Din countered, wrapping his arms around Corin’s waist and pulling him closer. Corin fit perfectly between Din’s knees and he couldn't help but think that he belongs here, that this is always where he was intended to be. 

“You need to sleep, Cyar’ika,” Corin noted. Din’s heated gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, not by Corin. The way Din trailed his gloved hands up Corin's wrist and curled his fingers around the dip of an elbow. The way he practically peeled the layers of clothing from Corin’s toned muscles just with his eyes. The way he leaned in, throat dry and desperate, to every touch. 

No, Corin didn’t miss it. He knew exactly what Din wanted. What he needed.

“Stay?” Din asked. “Take care of me?” 

And who was Corin to deny him.

Armor set aside, a barrier for the outside world but never for Corin, they fell backwards onto the bed. Corin laughed against the bare skin of Din’s neck and revelled in the shivers he felt under the touch of his hand on Din’s stomach. 

It had been so long. So long since he had had Din home. So long since they had had the time. So long since they could indulge in the connection that brought them closer and closer with every gasp for fresh air. 

“What do you need, Cyare?” Corin asked, pressing kisses against sensitive skin and twitching tendons. “What do you want?” 

Din pulled in a gasp, hands insistent at the hem of Corin’s shirt. “You,” He whispered. “I want you.”

The shirt is lifted and discarded, tossed without a care in the world except for the man in front of him. The man Din hadn’t seen in days. 

“Kiss me?” Din asked, leaning up into an eager mouth. Corin kneeled between spread legs, his elbows supporting most of his weight. 

It’s a mess of lips and teeth and tongue. As they pressed closer, closer, closer, until Din’s hands were hooked into Corin’s belt loops, pulling him down and against. Until finally,  _ finally _ , both of them find the friction that had been absent for so long. 

“You drive me crazy,” Corin gasped, breaking off from the kiss to trail up Din’s jaw and back towards his ear. “I thought about you while you were gone,” Corin admitted, letting his hips roll down and up and,  _ oh, _ that’s it. That’s what he had been missing. “it wasn’t enough.” Corin nipped at the gap between collar bones and revels in the broken moan it drew from Din’s chest.

”Please.” Din whimpered, gloves tossed away and nails digging into Corin's back. “Cyar’ika please.” 

“Please what, Din?” Corin asked, voice innocent and hands filthy with the way he gripped every inch of skin he has access to. “What do you want?” He asked again, as if he didn't know, as if he couldn’t tell, as if he delighted in hearing the broken words slip between the cracks of the intimidating facade. 

“Fuck me.” Din lost all shame the moment Corin put his hands on him. “Fuck me Cyare please.” Their hips roll together again, and again, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough. “Take care of me,” Din begged, his voice broken with want and longing.

Clothes are shed and Din isn’t even sure where they end up. He pulled on zippers and yanked at waist bands until they’re both bare and together. 

The first contact feels like jumping into ice. Submerged and drowning with the jerk of a hand and the heat against skin. Corin pushed, pressed, forced Din back against the bed. Until he was supported by pillows and a hand against his chest. 

“You sure?” Corin asked again, always checking, always reaffirming. They had only done this a handful of times but there was no doubt in Din’s mind. This was what he wanted. This was what he needed. 

Din nodded as though his life depended on it. “Yes!” He hooked his heels around Corin’s waist. ”Please.”

Corin pressed a gentle, too gentle, kiss under Din’s jaw. There’s the pop of a cap, a hand snaking between them, and then Din felt pressure, weight, a stretch he craved and begged for in the late nights when he was away. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Corin was gentle, in Din’s opinion, too gentle. But he curled his finger and pressed, searching, until electricity was zipping up Din’s spine and he had to muffle his cry of pleasure into Corin’s shoulder. 

“Please. Please.” He begged. He didn’t even know what for until there’s more, another finger, and Din wanted to bite. He wanted to leave marks against Corin’s skin until there’s no mistaking who he belongs to. So that even when Din was gone, and the memory of his touch began to fade, Corin was his and his alone.

There’s a second and then a third. Din’s back arched off the bed. His nails digging in and dragging, drawing bright red marks from satin skin. His jaw clenched with the want and the need that crawls under his skin. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

_ “Corin,” _ Din whined, voice edging on the side of irritation. But it didn’t last long. The fingers withdrew and Din was left empty. Aching and needy and the worst kind of desperate. He whimpered and blushed in embarrassment with how absolutely wrecked he sounds. 

“Easy, ner kar’ta,” Corin whispered. His kisses soothed the heat under Din’s skin. The need that burned him from the inside out. The undeniable craving that forced him into action. 

“Let me take care of you,” Corin promised, until finally, finally, there’s a pressure and a push and Din feels like he can breathe again. 

Corin’s hand clamped itself over Din’s mouth. A muffled cry in the dark. “You don’t want to wake the kid, do you?” 

Din shook his head. He tried, he really did, but when Corin pushed deeper, Din couldn't help himself. The sounds spilled from his mouth with every ragged breath, every gasp, every drag and thrust.

“Easy, cyare. Easy.” Corin’s voice was a balm. A calming presence. A steady anchor. The rope that always pulled Din back to earth when he was lost. 

A spring coiled in Din’s stomach. A wick waiting to be lit. Tension, a rope pulled too tight, a rubber band waiting to snap. 

They move together. Din met every snap of Corin’s hips with a roll of his own. It built and built between them. Corin bit his lip and nearly drew blood, his fingers left bruises on Din’s hips.

And Din, with his hands curled tight into Corin’s hair, pulled him closer. He yanked his head to the side and kissed up the column of his throat. He left marks and bruises that punctuated every jerk of Corin’s hips. He nipped under the hollow of Corin’s jaw, relishing in knowing the mark would be visible in the morning. 

He’s almost there. He’s almost there.

“Din,” Corin gasped, a warning more than anything. But neither of them slow down. Neither of them stop. A warning turned to encouragement. They’re both right there.

Corin’s hand wrapped itself around where Din needed him most. A burning need finally satisfied. Until Din’s very soul was exposed and wanting and begging. He leaned into the touch. He keened into the shadows of the room and hoped that Corin knew just how lost he was in the connection between them. 

_ “Fuck,” _ Din moaned, a broken reply. 

They’re both so close.

It crashed over them. Blindsided by a wave they never saw coming. Falling up a staircase with too many steps. Tripping over a wire laid at their ankles. It’s a crescendo. A mountain peak. A muffled scream into the endless night. 

Din grasped for an anchor and found Corin, still buried deep and breathing hard, trying to find his own way back. 

“I’ve got you,” Din promised, and both of them knew he didn't mean only for tonight. “I’m right here.” It’s an oath to stay together until the lines blur between them.

Corin’s hands wandered. Touching and roaming and tracing the edge of Din’s silhouette until he reached the corner of his jaw. He held himself there, finding his balance, steadying himself until they could both breathe again. 

“I love you,” Corin whispered into the dark crevices that Din had never wanted to reveal before they had met. “I love you.” It’s a mumble of reassurance for every insecurity.

Corin will always be there. Through thick and thin, through hunger and drought, through days of absence. Corin would always be right there. And he would always be just enough.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” Din answered, wondering if Corin will ever understand the depth with which he meant it.

After a rearrangement and a quick swipe of a cloth, they find themselves curled together, sleep weighing them down with every blink. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Corin admitted, as if Din didn’t feel the same. 

“I missed you too.” Din sighed and pulled Corin even closer, burying his nose in the crook of Corin’s shoulder.

The exhaustion, now doubled with the bone deep satisfaction of being home, dragged Din under the dark waters of sleep. For the first time in days he was able to rest, deeply and soundly, knowing he was right where he belonged.


End file.
